


Bartering Soul for Heart

by BeesKnees



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 70th Hunger Games, F/M, Hunger Games, M/M, Manipulation, Power Play, Sexual Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't fall in love with one of your tributes, Mags tells him; he trades everything to bring her home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bartering Soul for Heart

“Don’t fall in love with this girl, Finnick,” Mags says while they’re on the train, speeding back to the Capitol. “Don’t fall in love with one of your tributes.”

Finnick, at 19, has already lost four tributes. 

He’s already high, so he only laughs.

 

Seneca Crane is in love with him, but Seneca Crane, a conniving assistant gamemaker, cannot afford him. They shared three hours together once, a reward for Seneca’s promotion. From across the club, Finnick can feel Seneca’s eyes burning into his back even though Finnick is with another client. 

He spares Seneca a glance as he leaves, eyes fixating too long on his, a smoldering swell of oceantide. 

(After he is off his knees tonight, he murmurs of all the things that Annie needs to survive, plies his client with carefully crafted words. He’s never slept with someone for a tribute before.)

He’s back at the club the following night and so is Seneca. Finnick knows this time has to be stolen, because the gamemakers don’t get long periods of time off during the games. Seneca doesn’t come to sit by him, but buys him a drink from across the stretch of the bar. Finnick wraps his hands around it the way he would a trident, takes a long drink, tilts his head back far enough that his throat is visible. He drinks only half of it, gets up, and heads away. He slides through the back of the club where victors often come to entertain. No one spares him a second glance, because this is a second home. 

He settles behind a curtain, body poised on an overpadded couch. He counts the seconds in his head. Three minutes in, and Seneca appears. He lingers near the doorway, but his eyes are greedy. He wants, but he’s not sure what he’s allowed to have. Afraid to overstep. Finnick smiles, uses an inviting tilt of his head, and Seneca settles in, secures the curtain. 

He’s on the couch after three quick steps, and Finnick thinks he might take more convincing, but Seneca is on him immediately, dominating a bruising kiss. Finnick doesn’t fight it. Seneca grips him hard by the back of his neck, sinks his teeth into Finnick’s lip until there’s a splash of blood in between them. 

His other hand is everywhere, sliding hard over Finnick’s chest, nearly tearing the thin fabric of the barely-there shirt Finnick is wearing. His hand goes down, teases over the taut lines of Finnick’s hip before gripping him tight through his pants. 

Only then does Finnick push back a little, tilts Seneca back against the couch. He separates their mouth, can feel a hot drop of blood swelling on the cusp of his lip. He straddles Seneca, one leg sliding over his hips. Seneca watches him, eyes gone all dark. Finnick has his pants open quickly, a deft flick of his fingers, and then his hand delves inside, wrapping around the other man. 

It’s odd, because that seems to be the minute that Seneca’s brain catches up with the rest of him.

“The president didn’t send you,” Seneca says, voice still deep. It goes a little unsteady at the last word as Finnick begins to stroke him, his touch rough right off the bat. 

“No,” Finnick says coyly, looks up at Seneca from underneath his eyelashes.

“Why are you here then?” Seneca asks even as he settles against the couch, lifts his hips up just once. He doesn’t for a moment believe Finnick is here because he wants to be. He’s been around more victors than most.

“I want,” Finnick says, and they are chest to chest, too close, but Finnick is still working Seneca feverishly as he begins to whisper into Seneca’s ear, “To bring home a victor. To be the youngest mentor to ever do so.” He frames it in the context of his ego, because the Capitol understands ego. They love his. 

Seneca laughs, just a touch breathy.

“I can’t save that girl,” Seneca answers; it’s not like every gamemaker hasn’t heard this plea before — get them something extra. Make them the best victor the world has ever seen. “Besides, she’d be a terrible victor. No one wants a mad girl to win, Finnick.”

“She would make a terrible victor,” Finnick answers. Slows his touch just a little, brings Seneca’s attention more clearly onto what he’s saying. Seneca’s eyes narrow. 

“Especially if some accident allowed her to win,” Finnick presses. “Like that giant dam breaking.” He waits. 

The pieces begin to click together in Seneca’s head. An accident allowing an unpopular victor — well, that’s a crime that just might cost a head gamemaker a position. Seneca smiles, the expression gone sharp. 

“You’re a dangerous man, Finnick Odair,” Seneca answers, begins to press Finnick down to his knees. 

“A gamemaker made me,” Finnick answers, charming smile back in place.

 

The end of Annie’s game is playing when Finnick arrives in President Snow’s office. He doesn’t fret over Seneca telling Snow about what they’ve done — because that would implicate Seneca, who is busy preening over his newest promotion. Head gamemaker. 

Finnick sits down. The screens stay on — Annie floating on the surface of the waves, waterlogged, eyes distant. 

“Congratulations on your victor, Mr. Odair,” President Snow says. The Capitol has maybe never felt so cheated. 

Finnick smiles, all ego.

“Perhaps it would be best if you keep mentoring Miss Cresta,” Snow continues. We need to bring her back so the Capitol can take their anger out on her. Destroy her. 

“Would that be the best thing for business?” Finnick asks and he already knows, already is completely aware, that Snow is going to see through him, but Finnick will play any card he has, because he’s not sending Annie Cresta back here, not when she hasn’t slept in 48 hours and still cries anytime anybody tries to get her into the bathtub. 

Snow smiles, flicks Annie’s games off the screen. 

“You’re not as a good of a liar as you think you are, Mr. Odair,” Snow says. “What benefit would I have to not bringing Miss Cresta here, to her adoring fans?” 

Finnick stills. He can hear his heart pounding too loud in his ears.

“I can make up for whatever you’d lose,” Finnick answers, knows he’s bargaining away the rest of his life. He only has to stay here for four months out of the year now. He expects that’s going to be gone. The Capitol will swallow him. 

President Snow smiles the same way he did when he first met Finnick after his games. 

 

Finnick has nightmares on the trains back to Four. He wakes up to Annie holding him.


End file.
